


Distance

by Elysionia



Series: Babel [6]
Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Eating Disorders, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Making Up, Manipulation, One Shot, Past Rape/Non-con, Pre-Canon, nothing super explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysionia/pseuds/Elysionia
Summary: There is no reason to fight him on this. He is right, he always is. She swallows the taste of iron with bitter regret.Can be read as a stand alone.
Relationships: Claire Underwood/Francis Underwood
Series: Babel [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326185
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags and trigger warnings. Although nothing is super explicit.

_I_ _nvisible wave pushes us further away from each other_

_.:.:._

_1991_

Stairs creak under his weight as he descends to their maze like foyer full of cardboard boxes. Scent of just brewed coffee tickles his nose while he navigates through the various towers of appliances and clothes still left to be unboxed. He creeps closer, quietly as a mouse to admire her for awhile before making himself known. Frank stays silent leaning against the crisp white doorway watching Claire hustle in the kitchen making breakfast. Her melodic voice hums a familiar tune probably thinking she’s still alone in the kitchen. She looks so beautiful with her long hair still tousled from sleep, wrapped into her warm blue cardigan to fight off the cold. 

A wide smile lights up Claire’s face the second she twirls around empty coffee cups in hand and sees her handsome husband standing in the doorway clad in his new navy blue suit. 

‘’Good morning Francis.’’ 

Breakfast items are already laid out on the broad kitchen island. Their hands entwine for a moment, his thumb brushing her knuckles, tracing over her wedding ring before letting go of her hand and reaching for an apple past her frame. Overflowing joy for having Claire to support him takes over the anxiousness thrumming through his body for a moment. 

Sharp edge of the knife slices through the red apple easily while Claire pours their china full of freshly ground coffee. Frank carries his full plate on the too big kitchen table for the two of them, before fetching the day’s paper from the front door. Oddly he has grown to love the domesticity and routine between them. Everything is efficient as Claire follows after him with their steaming cups. 

‘’We should get a smaller table for the two of us.’’ Claire muses looking at the five empty chairs as she sets their cups on the dark wood, next to the paper Frank is reading before sitting down on the opposite side. 

‘’Whatever you’d like. ‘’ He mumbles with his mouth full, trying to focus on reading the news to avoid the tide of terrifying excitement of his first day in congress. Anxiousness grows in the silence roaring inside of him. Through his internal panic Frank can feel Claire’s sharp eyes pierce through his skin, poking straight to his chaotic brain. The itching sensation of being watched drives him on the edge. 

‘’Could you stop?’’ Frank huffs capturing Claire’s gaze in his. 

‘’Stop what?’’ She asks, voice innocent enough but her eyes gleam with unyielding strength challenging him.

‘’Condemning me with your eyes.’’ Realizing how petulant he must sound as soon as the accusation comes out of his mouth. 

‘’Is it me that makes you nervous, or do you finally admit that this is an important step for you. For us.’’ Her tone analyzing, devoid of any emotion.

‘’This is major! Of course I’m choked. You could at least show a little support and not stare me down.’’ The heat inside of him rising up to his ears due to stress. 

‘’I am. One of us needs to keep cool right now.’’ She continues sipping her coffee, ignoring his fuming. She’s in sync with his feelings. ‘’I wasn’t scrutinying you, actually I was thinking how well that navy blue suits your colours.’’ 

Flattery doesn’t suit them.

‘’And that you need to calm down. Your nerves are showing. You know how important first impressions are. I know you are capable of this.’’ 

Yes, these are crucially important times. He has to hide the power hungry part of himself, push it behind the facade and present himself as approachable to get to people’s good side. The easier it is to manipulate someone when they least suspect it. The spotlight is calling him from afar but they need to play this smart and start the conquering from the shadows. 

Befriend, divide and conquer. 

While Francis’ attention is turned elsewhere, fast as a snake Claire strikes and snatches a wedge from his plate across the table. Deep frown and the sound of the paper crunching in Frank’s hands makes Claire’s laugh ring while chewing on the crisp apple. She likes to make him tick. Their little games bring laughter and lightness into their serious, plan driven lives. 

‘’I could cut you some too you know.’’ Frank huffs raising his eyebrows at smug looking Claire who keeps munching on the apple wedge like it’s the most exquisite thing she’s ever tasted. 

‘’Now where’s the fun in that? It wouldn’t be twice as delicious.’’ She winks at him before popping the rest of the apple into her mouth. He can’t hold on to the frown before Claire’s radiant smile that warms him up from the inside, curving the edges of his mouth into a laugh.

She gets lost in the brightness of the light, soaking in the winter sun streaming through the double windows while letting the tarte sweetness of the apple linger on her tongue before sipping on the black coffee. Frank has long ago forgotten the page he was reading opting to adore his wife instead. He knows moments like these won’t last for a lifetime. 

  
  


.:.:.

  
  


_1994_

Soreness of his eyes makes him squint at the pile of reports scattered across their bedding hiding most of the beige silk. There are too many things to keep track on in times like these. Fatigue is no excuse. He needs to be at least three steps before everyone else at all times, especially with the upcoming elections. Sentence after sentence keeps flying past his burning eyes until his hands pull out a news article forwarded by Nancy. Frown between his eyebrows deepening as the situation unfolds. 

‘’Claire, have you heard about this?’’ He lifts the article raising his voice towards the bathroom. 

This whole media circus makes the Capitol seem like a grande theater. Every other day he thanks God that he feels at home in the scourcing spotlights. At least he can spin some of these small hiccups into his advantage in the future. 

His question is left hanging in the air devoid of an answer. 

“Are you still there?” He raises his voice towards the silent bathroom. 

“Claire!”

Not a sound. 

Ice rushes through his veins and the papers fly from his hands, sweeping across the bedding to the floor abandoned. In seconds he leaps over the unmade bed, crashing through the bedroom’s door calling out her name once more in concern: 

‘’Claire!’’ 

His heart bangs to the same beat as his frantic steps fall against the dark hardwood floor. 

Charging around the sharp corner he stops at the sight of her. The bathroom’s door lays wide open framing her figure from afar. The glowing light embracing her is warm but the sight leaves him worried. Ugly tears are falling down her cheeks as she breathes heavily through the hand clasped over her mouth. His wife is not a crier. 

Teary eyes glance quickly at him before turning back to the floor in denial. Taking couple of deep slow breaths Claire’s hand reveals a trembling lower lip as she squeezed her hands into tight fists by her side, trying to gather up the courage to look him in the eyes before squeaking: 

‘’I’m pregnant.’’ 

Their distance of seven feet stretches out for miles as fear leaves his face ashen. 

For the first time in his life he’s choked. His ears whistle with static and his legs turn to stone, too heavy to move him across the doorway to embrace her. This must be a sick joke she’s pulling on him. The budding hysterical laughter that shakes him, dies quickly in his throat with her growing pool of tears. It’s no game. 

Claire’s tears have turned into rivers running down her jawline. Shock and fear laden laughter step back when anger wells up inside of him, bursting through his veins with a strike of his hand against the glass. He can only see red.

The echo of the vase shards crashing against the stone makes her flinch and back further into the bathroom. The sharp pain on his hand pulls him back into the moment. His agitated heartbeats pulse through the bleeding wound. The ache helps him to arrange his thoughts through the violent blur of emotions daring to swallow him whole.

  
  


She’s with a child. There are too many questions rushing through his crowded head at once. 

_how is it possible she was supposed to be on the pill is she sure about this what are they going to do what about the campaign ’m not going to lose because of this._

When he dares to look at her naked body under the golden lights of their bathroom, he can put all of the small signs together. Claire had become softer than before, her cheeks less gaunt and hollow. She’d recovered well after his latest victory of getting to keep the seat. She’d been fluctuating all the time they’ve been together ever since university but things had really calmed down after settling to D.C. How could he have ignored every little sign and passed it off as something so trivial. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

‘’It’s not 100%.’’ She answers to his first question without him even asking it, reading the confusion and anger flickering on his face.

This is not a betrayal. 

His tight lipped ‘’Apparently’’ comes off as more passive aggressive than was meant. There’s nothing more he can say at the moment as his hands fist the excess fabric of his pyjamas. His bleeding hand stains the striped cotton.

Fuck medicine. Fuck his damned luck. 

Exhaling his anger out he paces between the shelves and the shards: “Don’t worry, I can fix it.” 

His low voice breaks the tension growing between them. She doesn’t know if he’s referring to the vase or this fucked up situation they’re stuck in. 

Finally he feels brave and calm enough to approach her. His feet glide on the floor crossing the sill to the bathroom, sneaking closer to her like rounding up a wounded animal. 

‘’Do you know how far along you are?’’ He carefully tunes his voice, trying to change his tone to a gentle one. His initial anger sizzles down into tired confusion darkening his ablazed eyes back to their usual brown.

Fear hits her twisting up her insides, making her stomach turn as it squeezes her airways shut snatching her voice away. She had forgotten her period. 

They’d been doing venues after venues. One appearance after another and hundreds of speeches. The buss tour. Both of them traveling between D.C and South-Carolina. On top of that she’s been busy with growing C.W.I. To finally make a mark for herself. Pulling all-nighters and falling asleep on the work she’s supposed to have sent out days ago. It isn’t unusual for her to miss her period while being stressed and anxious. On the worst years she wouldn’t bleed for months. 

Silence surrounding them paints demons into the shadows of their bathroom. It takes Claire too long to answer to Francis’ question, trying hard to trace back the last time she was on her period. Impatient twitch of his fingers against his thigh leave streaks of red behind with every swipe, mapping out the seconds passed. 

‘’I’m not sure - - It’s been months Francis.’’ Her knuckles are white from the frustration. She wishes she could snap the pregnancy test apart with her hands and let out the feral scream burning inside of her chest.

His clean hand reaches towards her trying to catch her fingers in his, with sure eyes and steady voice: ‘’We have to get you to a doctor.’’ 

Storm in Claire’s eyes stills in emotion similar to terror as they lock with Francis’ dark eyes. She flinches taking a step back away from his outstretched hand as if he’d hit her. His words shaking her out of the alternate reality she’d sunken into. 

Hair swishes against her bare back as she shakes her head in denial, fighting against the harsh reality facing her: ‘’You don’t mean - -.’’

He interrupts her shaky voice before she can continue: ‘’We have talked about this before. We can’t have a baby right now, we’re in a middle of a campaign.‘’ 

_We are always going to be in a middle of a campaign_ , the small voice inside her head whispers cruelly. 

Pulling back away from her he runs his fingers through chestnut hair, not daring to look her back into her glistening eyes while delivering the final judgement. He exhales slowly trying to push any emotion away from his voice despite the turmoil of feelings racing inside of him. He has to convince her to do this, otherwise they won’t survive.

‘’We as parents Claire… It wouldn’t be viable.’’ He’s leading the polls now but everything can turn on a dime and they need to play it safe. After clearing his voice he turns the point of view adding :’’ You don’t want to be stuck as a mother with this promising future ahead of you.’’

Claire blinks away the tears daring to fall on her cheeks pressing her lips into a thin line. She’d been foolish to think even for a millisecond that maybe they could keep the baby. It would be hard but they could do it. She could almost see the child in her mind’s eye. A girl with brown eyes and golden hair, with a smile as warm as the summer sun. 

Their own child. 

Gush of blood from her cheek breaks the mirages forming inside her troubled head, Francis’ words of reason finally reaching her power hungry-self. The back of her hand aches red from her pulling the skin cruelly from the frustration. 

There is no reason to fight him on this. He is right, he always is. She swallows the taste of iron with bitter regret. 

‘’I know someone. I’ve been there before. He’s been very discreet.’’ Her voice is quiet and heavy, carrying the painful memories from years ago that have never faded and the shame that keeps lingering in her heart. 

‘’There can be no records of this. This could ruin everything if it’d ever surface. We will have to make sure that no-one knows or suspects anything. Otherwise both of our careers would be in jeopardy.’’ 

She nods slowly, emotions turning off under Francis’ eyes as her shaky hands place the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter. Her grey eyes stay locked in the distance, somewhere far away from their marble bathroom.

“Claire do you understand?” His serious voice presses on, crashing against the wall she has lifted between them. She offers him no reaction in return.

Frank can only see her bare back as her head hangs low, while she drags her unwilling legs to the shower cabinet and closes the door on him, leaving him to bleed alone in their bathroom. 

  
  


.:.:.

  
  


It takes courage to make the call. 16 weeks counts as the 2nd trimester. It’s almost too far long, she knows it too well. The longer you wait for the abortion the graver the risks are for the mother. Most of the doctors wouldn’t be willing to do anything for a young, married and well-off couple like them but luckily money can buy anything.

She tries not to think about it as the day approaches. Keeping busy with work and the campaigning, running through the first rays of the sunlight, pushing every thought of the thing somewhere to the furthest corner of her mind. A blob as big as an avocado. Only a piece of flesh. Nothing. 

The dark hospital room takes her nine years back. Narrow windows allow minimal light to enter the otherwise dark room. White and ugly pastel green walls stretch high up to the ceiling making her feel like she’s continuously sinking into her creaky uncomfortable bed. She will always remember the dark days she’s spent in the beds similar to this one. Unfortunately this time there’s no alcohol to drown herself into in the aftermath. 

The nauseating scent of disinfectant and medicine seeps into her skin and stays lingering in her nose. Most horrifying thing is that she’s always been able to smell death and grave sickness from people. It is a blessing and a curse to know which way one’s life is headed. When she had first woke up from her drug induced sleep, she could smell the rotting from herself. 

Maybe death becomes her.

Even in sleep she’s plagued by the horrors of her past. She can still feel Dalton’s rough hands scorching hot, burning through her skin when she wakes up. Heart pounding she panics fumbling around the tiny bed, trying to escape the sheets stuck to her clammy skin. Pushing the mane of her hair back she recognizes the pastel green surroundings that manage to soothe her nerves once she locates herself from the tangle. But the deep rooted fear makes her shiver involuntarily as the shadows fill with the crushing pain of her past.

She counts the seconds with every breath, pushing the rising tide of panic down like she has learned to do. Revelation comes to her through the flash of madness. She has to cut herself open and separate herself from the wailing girl who’s forever pinned under McGinnis. The same girl who has stared these ugly walls for days. The one who’s about to cry because bad memories got to her. The one who’s afraid of the future. She wants to make out of this, not only for herself but for Francis. Falling back onto the bed with a heave, she breathes deep through her nose squeezing her eyes shut. 

It’s all too much. 

Even after this time it feels like knives being pushed into her chest. A broken sob leaves her mouth as she turns onto her side and gathers up the damp sheet, pressing her fists against her lips for the last time. 

  
  


.:.:.

  
  


It takes her three days of bedrest to get up and pick up the phone. She waits till the very late hour of the evening to make sure he’s home. The buttons clinck as she selects them slowly, careful to roll the right numbers. It takes seven beeps for him to pick up the phone. Seconds stretch on listening to the static silence of the telephone wires before he answers. 

‘’Claire’’ Low timbre of his voice calling out her name sounds foreign as it echoes in her ear. She’s at loss of words trying to find her voice, tongue feeling like a dry sponge lodged in her mouth. 

A tired, thread thin ‘’Hey’’ is all she can get out of her lungs. She can almost feel Francis breathe out his worry against her cheek. 

‘’When can I come to get you back home to me?’’ He asks gently, undertone of his voice revealing longing for her besides him. She secretly wishes he could be here to hold her hand in his, to bleed his strength and resolution into her. She misses the way he can soothe and slow her ever racing head. Past few days of solitude culminating how dependent she has grown to be of him. 

It makes her sick. 

‘’It’ll be a day or two more to see if I’m stable... And that there are no further complications.’’ Cold sweat rises to her forehead as tired legs struggle to hold her up. Her body thuds against the wall as she’s forced to lean heavily for support. 

“What are you thinking of?” He asks curiously as the static silence is filled with her shallow breathing. 

“The election.”

“Don’t worry yourself with that. We’ll get it. The events are crowded.” His warm voice tries to sound comforting. It does nothing to ease her nerves. 

‘’How are you holding up?’’ His voice is serious, laced with worry. They had called him about her fever. 

‘’Tired.’’ She grunts. Past days have melted into one. She has been falling in and out of sleep from all the medicine they’ve given her. The drug induced sleep is better than feeling the aching hollowness inside of her. It’s better than feeling the protests of her body from losing its third child.

‘’Claire, I love you.’’ 

‘’I love you too.’’ She whispers almost inaudible. 

‘’You know where to find me. I’ll be at the campaign trail. I’ll call to you tomorrow night when I get back from Gaffney.’’ 

She can hear him beam through the phone, satisfied with himself. 

‘’Good luck Francis.’’

  
  


.:.:.

  
  


Sitting on the windowsill she can see their black town car pull up to the driveway. Only seconds later, Francis leaps out of the car door. Heavens open up before him when he sees Claire standing in the white archway with wind in her golden hair. Chaos inside of him quiets down as he is captured by her beauty. They haven’t been apart for this long in ages. Longing gets him to move and in a flash he leaps over the small pebbles, running up the stone steps before crushing her against his heart. 

Francis’ wide frame covers her as his arms snake over her shoulder blades, squeezing her hard against his thundering chest. His fingers comb through her thick hair languidly as he breathes her in, letting out a breath he didn’t know of holding in relief. Her scent hides beneath a layer of disinfectant. As they embrace in the dull white of the foyer, Claire surrenders against his shoulder fighting hard against the sea of feelings inside of her daring to manifest itself in tears. 

As the longing for her easens, Frank is finally able to slide his hands on her shoulders giving her some space to breathe. His lips press a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth, leaning deeper in to whisper into her ear: ‘’I missed you.’’ 

Claire’s blue eyes are wet as he smirks to her, brushing the one tear that has managed to escape her eyes away with his thumb, erasing the trace of her public slip. There’s no room for tears anymore. Frank tears his gaze away from Claire’s alluring face to the doctor hiding close to the wall in the doorway. 

‘’Hello Mr. Underwood. It’s good to see you. A word with you before you can go.’’ 

Blue sky and the dark trees blur together as sleep claims Claire for the most part of the three hour journey. Her head heavy against Franks shoulder as he pets her silky head tenderly. 

Foreign feelings surround him. Like the story of a wolf that swallowed the stones, heavy thoughts sink and weight in his stomach. The soft part of him is going on a guilt trip. He’s not at fault. They made the decision together and it was the right thing to do. No matter what happens they must move forwards and forget this bloody inconvenience. They are stronger together and the bright dawn of the victory is waiting right behind the corner.

  
  


.:.:.

Her inner clock is precise as she opens her eyes at sunrise. Dream world fades away leaving behind the empty autumn sky. If things were like before she would soon get up and go for a run in the brisk morning air absorbing the sun into herself. Instead she keeps her eyes tightly shut praying to be able to slide back into her dreams. Unable to sleep, she hides tightly under the covers in their bed until Francis’ footsteps fade out of the house. 

Even after three weeks there’s blood trickling down her legs soiling her creme slip. Pulse races up to her ears when she stands up too fast from the bed. Couple of steps she has to take to get to the bathroom could pass for a marathon on her trembling legs. She grits her teeth in frustration.

The edge of the porcelain sink feels pleasantly cool against her clammy hands. Cold water feels calming against her too hot skin as she submerges her face in, imagining she’s sinking towards the calm ocean floor. Wet tendrils of her hair fall over her vision before she brushes the damp hair away from her face with a fresh towel. One glance to the mirror reveals a stranger staring back at her.

Three cups of coffee aren’t enough to wake her up. Black swirl claims her thoughts and afterwards she’s stuck gazing the stained bottom of her cup. Her head is heavy and unbearably hazy. Like she’s lost in a cloud of smoke unable to thread through. She can barely recall anything from the past week as the days and the too long nights keep bleeding together. Numb sorrow keeps lingering somewhere deep in her chest, peeking its head every time her racing thoughts dare to quiet down. 

Walking back to the kitchen she swallows a handful of pills, washing them down with a glass of water, eagerly waiting for them to whisk the pain away. 

In couple of days their once happy home has turned into a mausoleum. The empty hallways howl into her ears when she’s left alone during the days. Isolation claws cruelly at her chest ripping at the old wounds. First time while being with Francis she feels trapped, utterly helpless. 

She knows he thinks she’s being childish and petulant. Let him. How could he understand the things she’s going through when she can barely grasp them herself.

It’s not the isolation that slowly picks her apart and rattles her carefully built walls. It’s the feeling of being useless, unable to do anything significant. Feeling like the earth could swallow her at any moment and no one would even notice her absence. Francis keeping the gates tightly shut.

She can’t show up to the C.W.I office yet. Francis made sure to inform her staff of her sudden illness, passing the lead temporarily to Evelyn. He doesn’t allow her to work with his campaign while she’s recovering. She would be thrilled to be even folding the fucking campaign fliers at home. Instead she’s stuck here in her own castle clawing at the walls while he’s out there fighting for them.

Her fingertips trace on the ornate silvery wallpaper as she wanders around the house. The wooden flooring of their house feels warm against her bare feet. Without the click of her heels she could pass for a ghost as she silently opts for their secluded window in the drawing room, where they’ve spent their evenings sharing cigarettes and secrets. Her wet braid lays heavy on her shoulder as the excess water seeps slowly through the fabric of her blue dress shirt. 

Opening the large wooden panels she breathes in the fresh air, enjoying the cool brush of autumn wind on her skin. She takes a seat on the windowsill and pulls a cigarette from the ornate box. Claire admires the hot flame as it licks the cigarette lighting it up while warming the tips of her blue fingers. Leaning back she surrounds herself with the cloud of smoke closing her eyes, letting the smoke consume her. 

In the middle of the day the suburb is silent. There are no songbirds outside. The evergreen trees and endless fields of their ranch have changed into brick walls and high towers of D.C a long time ago. In her sweetest dreams she’s still riding across the grass with Red as daddy watches over her. 

Seven years she and Francis have been married and walked on this path together. What a waste it would be to stop now and let everything crumble when they are already here. The dull pain will forever remain in her heart and always remind her of the sacrifices she has willingly made for them. She knows that in the future, she has made the right choice. Let it be hard, she can take anything.

Staring longingly at the outdoors her body aches badly. What would she give to get away from the dull thrumming pain for just a moment. She knows she’s in no condition to wander outside alone, yet her mind keeps toying with the idea of opening the heavy door to the empty street and just running as far as her legs will carry her. The Washington post has sure been lacking of content lately. They could use a scoop of Congressman’s wife gone mad. 

Crack of their front door makes her heart skip a beat. Hurriedly she squishes the rest of the cigarette down and swats away the lingering smoke. A fine white bouquet of flowers peeks from behind the door as their new driver knocks on the wall gently before calling out: ‘’ Mrs. Underwood, may I come in?’’ 

‘’Yes of course, Steve was it?’’ She asks with a faint smile while shutting the window.

‘’Yes ma’am. Mr Underwood sent you these.’’ He lifts the bouquet on his hand before placing the flowers down on the side table. 

‘’How thoughtful. Thank you for delivering these.’’ She pads to him with grace and picks up the bouquet, flipping the piece of parchment tied around the tulips open. 

_Even these flowers can’t compete with your everlasting beauty._

She could vomit.

‘’It was my pleasure, ma’am.’’ Steve continues to linger inside the foyer, taking couple of side steps before turning to look at her, curiosity getting the best of him: ‘’Are you feeling any better Mrs. Underwood?’’ 

‘’I’m still a bit under the weather but it’ll pass.‘’ 

Face lighting up with hope from starting a conversation, he opens his mouth only to be interrupted by Claire’s soft hum and icy stare, a warning: ‘’You should go now.’’

‘’Yes ma’am. Have a nice day.’’ Light blush colours his cheeks as his white head disappears behind the closing door, sealing her in with a click. 

  
  


.:.:.

  
  


It’s dark when he finally arrives back home. The house is alive with sounds as she counts his ascending footsteps. Thunder rumbles and grows inside of her chest as his presence comes closer. Soft light glows from the dressing room as Francis follows his usual pattern. He lays his suit out, showers and puts on his pyjamas before turning off the lights. 

The storm of feelings from the day has left her exhausted. She doesn’t have the energy to talk about her foolish feelings to him. She is aware the longer she stays silent the harder it is to talk to him. Keeping her eyes closed she tries to disappear into the night. Relying on the fact that he’ll respect her signs of wanting to be left alone with her troubles. 

In darkness his shadow pans over her as he walks around their bed to his side before sliding under the cool sheets besides her.

She’s almost drifting off to a troubled sleep when she feels his hand climb over her ribs, pulling her flush against his body. His touch is electric when he runs his hands up and down over the silk slip tracing the curves of her still fuller body, cupping her tender breast. She lets out a breathy gasp as his fingers find her hardening nipples. Frank takes her gasp as a yes and kisses her bare neck earning another mew out of her. 

Pleasure starts to coil in her core from the precise caresses of his fingers against her nipples. He hasn’t touched her like this since the news. She’s in disarray. Her body is more than willing to let him have her but alas she’s still aching from the aftermath of the operation and his eager questing fingers hurt her. 

‘’Francis stop it hurts.’’ 

She winces against his touch but he continues to stroke her skin. Broken sob of frustration fights out of Claire’s tight set lips.

His hands fall right off her as he sits up in the darkness and addresses her and the silence between them in concern: “Sweetheart please tell me what’s going on?”

She shakes her head before trying to disappear under the covers. She’s tired of hiding his knowing gaze. He won’t have any of it as Frank rips the sheet back unceremoniously, exposing her covering frame to him.

“Claire, talk to me.” His voice is stern and concerned. This has been going on for far too long. He’s tired of circling her from afar. Her back stays turned to him, shielding her from his gaze.

‘’We have to stop this.’’ He fumes.

‘’Stop what?’’ She grunts quietly. 

He wishes she could see him rolling his eyes dramatically at her childishness. Why does she insist on bottling up feelings that bother her constantly when she could speak to him. He has given her plenty of time and space to arrange herself. All she has done is avoiding him for the past weeks. Hiding from him in the deep where he can’t swim to. Building this wall between them and shutting him out, leaving him no other choice than to punch through. 

”You can tell me or I can just keep on guessing.” Again she’s offering silence for an answer while he’s ready to drown for her. If all of this is just about the abortion, he can’t fathom how could she feel sad for a thing that never really was. 

The hurt within her is deeper than he can see. Her frustration grows and blows up into angry tears making her eyes glisten in the darkness before she can form a coherent sentence and face him.

‘’Treating me like I could break.’’ 

His eyebrows rise in surprise at her outburst, deciding to keep his mouth shut and to let her speak her mind. 

“I feel so useless. Insignificant. Isolated from everything. I want to get back to work and back to campaigning. It makes me anxious just sitting here and waiting for nothing while you are out there doing all the work for us. I’m frustrated because I feel so meek and there is nothing I can do about it.“

His deep hums ripple through Claire while he caresses her upper arms tenderly through her rant. Her breaths come out in aggressive bursts before she finally calms down, relaxing against the sheets with a shiver. 

“Have you eaten anything?” He asks out of point, probing a blazing fire with a wooden stick. His deep voice almost disappears into the darkness while he brushes against her bare skin. 

With force she turns her back to him hiding her face back in the shadows. Her tears are gone as fast as they surfaced as ice claims her skin. She can feel his intense gaze burn her shoulders. 

Biting down on her lip she holds her breath. She wants to lie to him, to say she has listened and followed the doctor’s orders precisely. Other part of her is angry. She wants to fight him and tell that this isn’t a matter of nourishing her body. Even though deep inside she know that eating something, anything, would take the edge off. 

His hand feels hot against her shoulder as he holds her, patiently waiting for her. Surrendering under the soft touch of his fingers, she whispers an emotionless “no” feeling the shame burn her throat. It’s like she’s a child all over again, ashamed of depriving herself from eating. And even more ashamed of getting caught. She knows this is not how sensible adults act but she can’t stop herself. It’s the only thing that’s under her control.

Frank sighs at her confession already aware of her situation: “Then how did you think you were going to get better if you haven’t eaten anything?” 

The accusation lingers in the air waiting for her answer which he’ll never hear. 

“This is rough on your body as it is. Don’t punish yourself for staying at home and recovering. “ His tone is not punishing nor cruel. It’s warm yet the sound of his voice sinks deep into her skin rattling her. 

This doesn’t benefit them. They shouldn’t waste their energy on foolish actions or quarrels like these. 

“I’m not - -“ She tries to protest in hushed whisper that drowns under his voice as he reasons. 

“I want you to come and tour with me on the trail but it’s not possible if you’re not feeling yourself. I don’t want to risk your health any more.’’

  
  
  


Deep blue has descended between them. He can feel the water lapping at his shoulder as he tries to pull her through the resisting tides. 

  
  
  


‘’This growing distance between us is tearing me asunder.’’ 

  
  


He grabs her sharp shoulder fiercely pulling her back to face him. His hands capture her on the bedding as he looms over her, blazing fire in his eyes boring into hers. 

“I could never leave you behind. “ He spits it like it’s a curse. A thought he can’t bear carrying.

Bright flame of passion lighting his eyes, their lips meet in a gentle kiss. He’s willing to carry her over this deep river now that he has found her from the waters. He wants to pour his feelings into her skin because there are no words to describe her preciousness. She can be an asset instead of a burden, if she can let go and start acting like herself again. Claire’s not easy to love but he doesn’t want easy. He needs an equal. And he knows, that Claire in her full force is the perfect match for him. 

His hot kisses travel down her neck, passing her breasts and mapping her stomach determinately past the silk.

“The doctor said no intercourse for a month.” She gasps digging her fingers through Francis’ hair as his lips travel downwards making her body humm with warmth. She can feel him harden against her leg. 

‘’Mhhm’’ he groans while placing a chaste kiss on her hip while his fingers slowly creep under the edge of her panties. 

‘’I’m still bleeding.’’ She points out while eagerly tilting her hips against his touch. 

‘’Does it bother you?’’ He asks while watching her face closely, thumbs drawing circles on the insides of her thighs. 

‘’It doesn’t but - -’’ 

‘’Hush then I don’t care either.’’ 

Despite the drops of blood he sinks his face into her, leaving her breathless. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is guys. I hope you have time to read this while social distancing. If you want to chat, comment or criticize me on another platform hit me up on Twitter @abyssianna . Every response negative or positive is always welcome. 
> 
> This draft has been sitting on my WIP for a year now. It certainly was hard to write and I still don't know if I'm satisfied with the outcome. To make it clear I don't believe Frank is actively using Claire for anything. He loves her more than anyone but it's just how his mind works. And people usually forget that he is about 6 years older than her. She was just 22 when they married so I believe I'm not wrong to say that he has influenced her a lot.


End file.
